The only sound that disturbed the heavy silence was the drone of the overhead light, its insistent hum a maddening whisper in the small room. The monotonous buzz needled its way into Odelia’s skull, setting her nerves on edge until her left eye twitched—a minor betrayal of the composure she fought desperately to maintain.
The woman stared unnervingly at Odelia's face. Perfectly manicured fingernails came up to wipe her cheek subconsciously. Was her makeup out of place, or was this woman some kind of robot? Odelia’s eyes flitted around the small, dingy room. The cement floor, bland white walls, and one pestering light created an uninviting environment.
"You know, a rug would really spice up the place," Odelia muttered.
Looking for a response, she waited several seconds. When no sound came from the woman, Odelia couldn't help but roll her eyes. Definitely a robot.
"So… should I start?" Odelia questioned, tilting her head.
With an unyielding presence, the vacant eyes of the woman in front of the heiress were her only answer. They both stared at each other, neither backing down. Odelia was unsure what she was looking for in the stranger's gaze. Perhaps an out from the trials? Or maybe an answer to her stupid, impulsive, fearful mistake?
Obviously, there was a solution. Odelia looked down at the paper before her, fingers curling around the edges unconsciously. She was so foolish, but as her mother always said, mindless girls must be punished. Clearing her throat, her perfectly glossed lips parted as she began to speak the vow. “I, Odelia Kim, willingly accept my invitation into the Trial of Hearts.”
Dun. Dun. Dun.
She could barely hear herself over her thunderous heart as she continued, her voice trembling. “I enter with the full understanding that this is a game of absolutes: high risk, high reward.” Her tongue flicked around her lips as they had gone dry from a subtle panic settling in her gut. How had she gotten here? How had she spiraled down a path to the trials? She was supposed to be carefree, on a beach somewhere. Preferably with margaritas…
Her back straightened as she realized she had taken an abnormally long pause. With an apologetic smile, she pressed on, willing her voice to regain its steady rhythm. “I acknowledge that the Trial of Hearts may result in… injury,” her eye twitched again; being in pain sounded awful. Her entire being recoiled at the thought. “Physical, emotional, or psychological—and by speaking these words, I seal my fate.”
A nervous giggle bubbled up in her throat, slipping out before she could rein it in. She was insane for doing this. The weight of her decision, the words she had previously uttered, settled over her skin. Odelia knew her coffin awaited her.
"By continuing, I forfeit any right to retreat or regret. I accept that only one will rise victorious, and I declare myself worthy of that title.” Odelia did not feel the declaration in her bones. Tears pricked her eyes, and she let her lids fall shut, willing herself to mask any more weakness.
I'm so fucked.
The sweat on her back clung to her skin, making the already uncomfortable seat feel unbearable. All Odelia wanted to do was shift, to find even the slightest relief, but instead, she remained still. With a soft, measured exhale, her eyes fluttered open, offering nothing but a composed smile.
QUEEN OF CLUBS, YOUR NAME IS MORE THAN A NAME — it’s a brand, a promise, a key to the most exclusive rooms in the world. Runways, after-parties, gallery openings, the velvet ropes part like magic wherever you go. A darling of the social elite, you are not just a guest—you are the event. Cameras adore you, designers court you, and whispers of envy follow you like a shadow. Fame, fortune, fashion—it has all been handed to you on a diamond-encrusted platter, without a single stumble or scar to show for it. And yet, perfection is a fragile thing, and all it takes is a single crack.
The accident was not meant to happen. You were meant to stay pristine, unblemished, the world’s flawless star. But blood has no regard for beauty, and neither does scandal. Now, the whispers slither beneath the floorboards, the tabloids circle like vultures, waiting for the moment you shatter. They will tell you to smile wider, to spin a prettier lie, to drown the truth in champagne and laughter. But you are starting to wonder—what happens if you don’t? The cameras are still watching. The world is still waiting. And one day—someone will find out. And you? You will either break, or you will learn how to bury them first.
DYNAMICS
THE VIRTUOSO ✦ YOU ARE MY HAVEN, MY SECOND VOICE.
YOU GREW UP TOGETHER, have always moved through life together—two souls intertwined despite different manors, stitched into the same devotion before either of you knew how to speak it. Your sisterly love was never something you questioned, never something that had to be earned. It was simply there, as certain as the rising sun, as steady as the pulse beneath your skin. You have been each other’s shelter, each other’s home, the kind of belonging that needs no explanation. You do not have to ask if they would fight for you. If they would break the world apart just to keep you safe. Because you know they would, they always would, and some loves do not need words. Some loves are written into the marrow of your bones, into the space between heartbeats. And yours—yours has never been anything less than forever.
THE PRINCE ✦ PICTURE-PERFECT, LIKE A BUTTERFLY'S CLIPPED WINGS.
YOU AND THEM — perfect on paper, whispered about and captured in flashes of light. People see something inevitable in your connection, something out of a fairytale, the kind of romance people dream about but never really touch. And you tell yourself, they must be right. Because if this isn’t love, then what else is there? You smile through the silences as if they aren’t growing wider, heavier, louder. You chase every fleeting spark, every moment that feels close enough to something, convincing yourself that if you just try harder, hold on tighter, love them enough—then it will all fall into place. But love should not feel like grasping at smoke. It should not feel like drowning while reaching for someone who isn’t even sinking. Everyone calls you a match made in heaven, and yet, how can heaven feel so terribly hollow?
THE INSATIABLE, THE GAMBIT ✦ MY DEAREST FRIENDS.
THIS PICTURE ISN'T NEW TO YOU: THE INSATIABLE and THE GAMBIT, locked in that familiar dance of destruction they've perfected over years. You love them both too much to leave and too little to intervene. You remember the stories they've told you—of shared hideaways, of secrets buried so deep they've become the foundation of who they are. You still remember that night of an afterparty— your trembling hands, too many drinks in, feeling brave or perhaps just transcending into panic—when you told them bits and pieces of your fresh accident, in a hypothetical way, of course. You watched their faces, waiting for... what? Advice? Sudden understanding? Horror? Instead, they'd laughed it off as another of your exaggerations. They couldn't take you seriously, could they? Not when they were too consumed with their own magnificent tragedy. So you stay, orbiting their destruction, telling yourself you're just here to unwind. To find something - an opportunity - to bury your case with.
pixelskylines
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